


Dream a Little Dream

by Unfeathered



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bondage, Dark, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-29
Updated: 2008-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24369664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unfeathered/pseuds/Unfeathered
Summary: Night on the Valiant, and the Doctor dreams he’s young again.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/The Master (Simm), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	Dream a Little Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](https://unfeathered.livejournal.com/2830.html) on 29 August 2008. Beta'd by [mad_jaks](https://mad_jaks.livejournal.com/) and a href="https://sistercarrion.livejournal.com">sistercarrion.

The Doctor dreams his body is young again.

He dreams his skin is tight and smooth on his body instead of hanging in revolting folds and wrinkles. That his hair is brown and bouncy instead of grey and straggly and practically non-existent. That his voice is powerful instead of dry and quavery. That his hearts beat strongly instead of feeling as if they’re about to give out. That he can move without his joints hurting, without it seeming an almost insurmountable effort.

Except that in his young body he can’t move, either. He’s chained to the bed. Chained quite comfortably, on his back with his head on the pillows and the sensuous slide of silk beneath his skin – oh! He’s naked too – but definitely chained. Fur-lined cuffs are fitted snugly round his wrists and fastened to the bedposts, spreading his arms wide.

And the Master is there. Of course the Master is there. The Master’s always there, everywhere he goes, in his thoughts, in his space, in his life. And now, it seems, in his body.

That’s new. He hasn’t been fucked in this body before and it ought to hurt, but it doesn’t. It just feels right, as it always has with the Master, because they fit together so well, body and mind. They always have, whichever bodies they’re in. His _thighs_ hurt a bit, because his legs are stretched wide to give the Master the access he demands, but they’re the only part of him that does. The rest of him is about as far from hurting as it’s possible to get.

He makes a soft, instinctual sound of pleasure in the back of his throat and the Master smiles. “Shhh,” he whispers, leaning low over the Doctor until his face is so close that the Doctor can’t focus on it anymore. The Doctor lets his eyes drift closed and there’s a huff of breath on his face as the Master laughs gently. “That’s right, Doctor. Relax and enjoy.”

He _is_ enjoying it. The Master’s fucking him slowly: long, languid movements in and out, letting him feel the fantastic awareness of having someone inside him again; sensations he’d forgotten were so pleasurable, so intense. The Master knows – always has known – that certain spot inside him that makes him gasp and arch, but he’s only brushing it gently as yet, just enough to produce little sparks of pleasure. And it’s enough, for now. To have the Master touching him so gently, so _lovingly_ …

He’s rather glad he’s tied up. It means he doesn’t have to fight, doesn’t have to protest. He can just relax and accept, because he doesn’t have a choice. Or at least, he can fool himself he doesn’t have a choice.

The Master doesn’t stay gentle for long, of course. He never does. The lips that brush soft kisses against the Doctor's own gradually become more exacting, demanding entrance to his mouth, sucking on his tongue, drawing the very breath out of him till his hearts are pounding and his chest is heaving beneath the Master's weight. And then the Master begins to move faster, cock sliding out and thrusting back in again, scraping over the Doctor’s prostate now, until he feels like he’s on fire. Head thrown back, gasping for air, feet flat on the bed to let him push up against the Master, craving faster, deeper, _more_.

“Oh, my beautiful Doctor,” the Master murmurs, and the Doctor opens his eyes to see a surprisingly gentle smile on the Master’s face poised above him, before it gives way to a grimace of strain as the Master does his best to fulfil those wishes, to get even deeper inside him, as if then they’ll never have to be apart.

The Master’s eyes darken, narrow, and grow intense. “Come for me,” he commands, stabbing at the Doctor’s prostate, and that, combined with the stretch and burn in his thighs, the Master’s stomach nudging against his cock, and the glorious feel of the Master – his Master – inside him, brings him screaming to a climax that crashes through him like a tidal wave, overwhelming him, lifting him up and then dragging him down into exhaustion.

“Good boy,” a voice whispers in his ear, and the Doctor lets out a soft sigh as he relaxes completely. “So good for me. Rest now, Doctor. Rest, and sleep.”

* * *

He wakes curled up in his tent, old and wrinkly and fully-dressed. There are no marks on his wrists and no come on his stomach. But his shoulders ache and his arse feels sore, used.

Not that he ever really thought it was a dream. But he can pretend.

Oh yes. He can pretend.


End file.
